


Is There Somewhere?

by Cchambers



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Cheating, I'm Sorry, I'm a mean person, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Post-Break Up, Post-Divorce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 19:44:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10315601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cchambers/pseuds/Cchambers
Summary: "And I loved him, I loved him, I loved him."The sequel to Five Years, Connor and Oliver see each other again at Laurel and Michaela's wedding.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! You can find the first fic on my works.  
> Also, I wrote this in one day so it's probably bad.

**He loved him.**

Five years ago.

He loved him, and he left.

But did _he_ ever leave?

Oliver saw the back of his head from his seat across the venue; he heard nothing but the sound of his voice, bored and tired as he sipped back another fluke of champagne.

Everyone threw themselves at him as soon as he walked into the room: the attractive young lawyer, with no wedding ring on his finger.

Connor belonged to Oliver- he was his, but a fragment, the tiniest piece, hung and dangled from Oliver's heart on his sleeve. He couldn't let him go; no matter how hard he tried, Connor would always have a place in his heart.

Everyone was looking at Connor, but when his head turned, all he saw was Oliver, dark eyes staring into him, the façade he constructed shattering into millions of pieces.

He knew Connor would be here; Michaela was his best friend, but Laurel was the one to call behind her finance's back and warn Oliver that they sent him a save the date.

The last time Oliver saw Connor Walsh, they were leaving each other.

"Oliver," Connor stood in front of him, a glass in one hand, and a piece of paper clutched in the other.

A Maker's Manhattan, two cherries, and a place card with Connor's name engraved in neat cursive. He sank into the chair, said nothing, and raised his hand to signal a waiter over.

When was the last time they were this close?

"Where's Henry."

"Work."

Oliver lied. They'd been having problems, ever since he left Connor at the bar. Watching him from as he walked past the window.

Remembering the hurt in his face as he tried to act like he and Oliver were just talking. The feeling of his arms as he wrapped himself around Oliver in a tight hug.

_"Does he still have feelings for you?" Henry kept his distance, arms folded across his chest. He'd never been on board when it came to reuniting with Connor._

_Oliver needed to know, he needed to know if something was still there- if he still loved him. Even with another man's ring on his finger._

_He did._

"Did you bring anyone?" Seeing Connor with someone else; Oliver imagined it one too many times.

Connor shook his head, eyes darting across the room, "No, but maybe I'll bring someone back to the hotel. I've got nothing to lose."

_He lost you._

Oliver drowned his thoughts with the drink, swallowing it, tasting the cherry as it popped in his mouth.  "Don't do something you'll regret, don't do something stupid."

Connor only listened to him, "Okay."

"What do you think of this?" Connor tilted his head in the direction of the main table, where Michaela and Laurel sat, absorbed in each other, greeting everyone, but not paying attention. "Do you think they're happy?"

"Yes," Oliver said. The feeling of being newlyweds, the new, shiny rings, the feeling of the word "husband" or "wife" on your tongue was the best, sounding entirely new, entirely yours. "They are."

_We used to be that way, remember?_

It seemed so long ago- five years.

Something as different about Connor. Something hardened inside him, his skin amour, his eyes cast off. His facial expressions, different from the devious, charismatic charm Oliver memorized.

He watched Michaela and Laurel, his glass swaying in his hand, back and fourth; how many drinks did he have before he made his way over?

_Drinking, is that why he left?_

_Worrying, is that why he left?_

Oliver always knew he lied; lying was a second skin to Connor, coming as naturally as the sunset and sunrise.

He never brought himself to ask.

_Ignorance is bliss._

"True love, it's bullshit, isn't it?"

No.

Oliver used to think that, thought of it as a myth, a cruel joke. It was a treasure Oliver never thought he'd find.

Connor Walsh walked in, and he was wrong.

Michaela and Laurel were dancing, intertwined, trapped in their own world, and everyone else was just watching as they smiled, whispered sweet nothings and confessions only they could hear.

They didn't have a big wedding. Life was just too much, with the rise of Laurel's family and changing like the tide after the death of Wes. It was just them, and Oliver wanted it to be that way; he'd give anything, just for them to be happy. To be in love.

_It was late, Connor still in his suit, and his gold ring wasn't as radiant as his smile, his grin, the brightness in his eyes, only reserved for Oliver._

_"Ollie," he took his hand, wrapping it around the back of his neck, "let's dance."_

_Barefoot in their kitchen, a soft song playing from the speakers. The lights turned off, the brightness of the skyscrapers outside pouring through the closed curtains._

_It was the happiest Oliver had ever been, his head tucked into Connor's shoulder, his arms wrapped around his waist. He loved him, he married him._

True love wasn't bullshit, not to Oliver. Not when he looked at Connor.

They said everything to each other, the wedding background noise. It wasn't awkward or stiff, it was natural, flowing out of them after being held in for years.

Oliver listened to Connor's voice, relishing the sound of his laugh, the way he threw his head back; a soft laugh, only reserved for him.

"Hi," Michaela broke the barrier, leaning on Laurel, happiness radiating off of her like rays of sunlight, her skin glowing under chandlers. "How're you two lovebirds?"

Connor and Oliver shared a look: _she planned this, didn't she?_

Connor nodded, _Yes_.

Laurel whispered something, resting her head on Michaela's shoulder- they both planned this, and it was working. Then they headed toward the other end to greet more guests.

"She's proud of herself," Connor remarked, his lips curling into a smirk. "And I'm glad she did this; its good, seeing you."

Oliver bit his tongue; you have a fiancée, he's your ex husband, you have Henry.

"It's good to see you, too."

Five years.

Everything feeling was rushing back, everything they ever said, they ever did. Together. Oliver and Connor, against the world.

Until Connor left.

It was midnight, and Connor was drunk. Oliver felt a buzz, but Connor drank as if it was his lifeline, as if he were trying to fill a hole with the bitterness of whisky and the straight forwardness of vodka.

_He's drinking because of you._

_Shut up._

They separated at a crossroads in the long hotel hallway, their keycard loosely hanging in their hands. Oliver and Connor would leave each other.

"Goodbye, Ollie."

"Goodbye, Connor."  
   
Oliver was stung as Connor's back was too him; he was gone, once again. Five years ago.

Soft footsteps bounced off the walls, and Oliver turned, waiting, watching, as Connor approached him, slightly swaying. Oliver remembered the nights of walking back to bed, Connor idly waiting on the edge of the door as Oliver undressed.

_"Why are you looking at me like that?" A blush blossomed on his cheeks, his hands awkwardly fiddling with the buttons._

_Oliver, the only thing the stoic Connor was in awe of, his eyes wondrous, full of emotions Oliver never read, words in code, difficult to decipher._

_"I like looking at you," Connor had  whispered, "it calms me down."_

It was the present, and Connor still looked at him the same way.

"You were right," he said, ducking his head down as a bitter laugh escaped his lips.

Oliver swallowed; Connor was drunk, so was he. The music from the ballroom still rung in his ears, but the world was faraway. "About what?"

Connor was up against him, now, looking up into Oliver's eyes. He traced his fingers on Oliver's cheek, his touch soft and careful, nervous. His touch was hard to erase, to forget, engraved on Oliver's skin.

"You said I'd do something I shouldn't do."

Connor inhaled him, took the air from his lungs, a beautiful toxin, poison in his veins and alcohol on his lips. He was a siren, luring Oliver to the treacherous rocks, but he's fallen so deep all he wanted was the feeling of him.

_Him._

_Connor._

_He left you._

_You love him._

_You love him, you love him, you love him._

A string in Oliver's heart twisted as Connor was the first to pull away, his gaze entirely different, as if he were seeing Oliver for the first time, as if clarity washed over him after years of blurriness.

Connor still held Oliver, close enough his heart was beating against his shirt.

"I shouldn't have done that."

The world washed away, the past gone. He was here, with Connor. Henry was gone, and all Oliver saw was the last five years.

The last thing Oliver heard was the door of a hotel room slamming behind him.  
-  
"Ollie, stay." Connor held onto him as if he were the only thing in the world, the only thing Connor had. The only thing he didn't want to lose.

 _Henry_ , Oliver's voice screamed, _look at what you did. You lied to him, you hurt him._

Connor was in Oliver's arms, his head on Oliver's chest, listening to his heartbeat. His lips, soaked in whisky, leaving traces of kisses, his words, things he'd never said before leaving.

"I can't, Connor."

Moonlight illuminated the side of Connor's face, his eyes as dark as the starless sky. "I missed you, Oliver." His voice was shaky, "I never told you how much I missed you."

_Don't leave him, don't leave him._

_If you walk out the door, you'll never see him again._

"Stop looking at me," Connor whispered, his chin raised, his gaze unwavering.

"Stop looking at you like what?"

His fingers danced on Oliver's bare skin, "Stop looking at me like you still love me."

And he did.

He'd never stopped.

He'd never stopped for five years.

"Oliver?"

"Yes, Connor?"

"Can we- can we just stay here. For one more night."

Oliver felt fresh tears burning in his eyes.

"It's all I want, Oliver. Just one more night, just with you. Leave me, Oliver. Walk out the door, forget we ever happened. If I can just hold you one more time."

"Connor-"

"You still love me, and you always will."

Oliver's love for Connor was a disease, infecting him, running through his veins.

_You love him, you love him._

_Five years, five years._

"Tonight?"

"Tonight."

A night like the ones five years ago.

 


End file.
